


White Eros

by Detavot



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Dance with 'Eros', Eros - Freeform, Gen, Love and Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 19:59:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15444714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detavot/pseuds/Detavot
Summary: Addictive. Blinding. Beautiful.Eros owned both body and soul, and so this was the price.





	White Eros

**Author's Note:**

> The English language really needs a gender-neutral pronoun. What, it already has one? Ew, no, English needs a better one.
> 
> I used the pronoun 'he' out of necessity, the main character's identity is completely up to your imagination.

    It was a cruel game they played, a cruel fate to be bestowed. He wrote with a pen worthy of his position, a pen with a white body but an ink as dark as the deepest pit. His penmanship perfect, for anything less was unacceptable. He sat rigid at his large desk, his face without emotion or humanity, his hand steady. His desk was carved beautifully. Not a single dent. He wondered if, in another life, it would have had any dents. He wondered. That was all he did. He wondered.

    But his eyes never changed. Cruel eyes, they were.

    The ink bled into the page with precision, the accents created to give the words elegance, the curves expertly done. Grace. He used to know the meaning of that word, once. He used to know. The fall had hurt. Nothing hurts more than falling when you expected to soar.

    Had he ever expected to soar, he wondered. He wondered. He wondered and did nothing more.

    Eros had come to him one night, and asked him a question. He did not answer that night. Eros came back, each night a bit more beautiful and warm, and asked him for a reply. He did not answer. Eros was getting persistent. The moonlight captured the beauty in a way that hurt his deep, bottomless eyes. Eyes trapped in the abyss. Staring into the dark. All so Eros could only look at him.

    A cruel fool, he was. A hopeless fool, the other was.

    They were fools.

    A shadow was present. It was always present. A shadow marring his everything.

    There was a sun. It was beyond the walls, deep inside the greenest forest. The boundaries he never dared push. Eros broke his boundaries night to night, singing in that hauntingly beautiful voice, and he wondered. He wondered. Eros asked him for a reply. He turned his back. Eros pressed a kiss to his hair, and vanished. He wondered. He wondered as he lay.

    Eros didn't visit him this night.

    Death took Eros’ place this night.

    Death asked him if he was afraid. He wondered and he wondered before he replied. Death smiled at him. Death told him a tale, a most terrifying tale, and the shadow laughed in the corner. Death finished the tale and asked him another question. He didn't answer, only stared at Death in the eyes.

    Death left three daffodils on his nightstand and left.

    He wrote, and he wrote. Paragraphs upon paragraphs of well-documented research, all carefully organised and explained. Neat. Perfect. The ink followed his command, the pen a well-learnt instrument in his hand. He was used to the whiteness blinding his vision, but now the shadow had begun to darken. He didn't worry. The white would never truly fade. He wondered what would happen if the shadow were to swallow the white. He wondered. He wondered and did nothing, only sat at his desk writing.

    He wondered and forgot to make a curve for the _R_.

    Eros came back this night. Eros’ skin was pale, and Eros took a daffodil from his nightstand. Eros smiled and put it through his hair, then stepped back and admired him. Eros asked him a different question this night. He answered. Eros’ smile was blinding. The shadow melted away for a second, just a second, before the shadow laughed again and told him that nothing was wrong. Eros stared at the shadow. The gaze warmed his heart, and the shadow faded.

    Eros gave the shadow a daffodil, and took the last one before leaving.

    He didn't take the daffodil off his hair. The daffodil withered and turned to dust.

    Death visited him again. The shadow left the world a grey limbo, and Death was slowly melting into the room. Death asked him a question. He answered. Death grinned at him, a most gleeful grin one would not associate with what it represented. Death asked him another question. This one, after thinking, he also answered. Death told him to look, and left after putting two white cyclamens on his nightstand.

    He wrote. Every detail, he made sure to write most beautifully. But the shadow had drained his light and he was having trouble seeing. He tried to do his best, he was sure he had memorised the page by writing on it so much, and tried to do every curve and accent just so. He wondered where his light had gone. He wondered why the shadow was taking it. He heard something. He heard liquid hitting the floor, the indescribable wetness of the sound clear to his ears. He wondered what had happened. He wondered, oh, he wondered.

    He wondered and his hand itched to do something.

    The shadow retreated, just for a second, and he saw that his pen had written red. He wondered. He wondered when that had happened. He wondered and wrote.

    Eros visited him, Eros’ hair was decorated with the daffodil. He didn't have the daffodil anymore, and he felt sad. Eros’ voice, like honey to his ears, told him to not worry. Eros’ lips, soft and pink, kissed his cheeks and his forehead. Look, Eros said. Look and see. He looked and searched, for Eros owned him body and soul. Eros asked him a question. He answered, stumbling over his words to make his tongue move fast enough. Eros gave him a cyclamen and took the other before leaving him.

    The shadow had almost devoured the white. He could see little bits of his red and sloppy words, he could see the remaining dust of the cyclamen decorating the page. The research he was supposed to be documenting… He wondered what it had been. He was beginning to forget it, he was beginning to forget why he was here in the first place. He wondered why. He wondered, and he wondered.

    The ink overflowed and stained the page. He wondered, and he did nothing else. His hand twitched, perhaps in annoyance, at his motionless state. He wondered why that was.

    Death visited him one last time. Death asked him if the lines were crowding him. He answered. Death had the walls melt off along with the shadow, and he saw light like he had never seen before. Look, Death told him. Look and see. He was blinded by the light.

    Death left him a single snowdrop.

    The desk was gone, as were the paper and pen. The floor was filled with the red liquid, the sound of its waves deafening him. He wondered if he could go to the green forest and meet the sun, he wondered if Eros would come tonight, he wondered what he should do now.

    He wondered, and he wondered. He stood up and explored the green fields which were once forbidden, and laughed. The snowdrop hadn't turned to dust yet, and he decorated his hair with it. Eros would enjoy it, he was sure. Eros would look at him.

    That night, he found Eros’ corpse inside the red river.

    The snowdrop remained.

    The shadow swallowed him whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by the book "Eroinle Dans" (A Dance With Heroin) by Canan Tan.


End file.
